Scooter slipped out of my grasp and latched himself to my shoulder, licking my cheek occasionally.

“Scoots, what am I going to do? Just when – just when we were back to being friends,” I hiccuped, stroking his mottled head.

Scooter meowed, and I didn’t know what he was saying, but I was glad that he was warm and fluffy – unlike those horrid grocery bags.

I lay down on my bed, letting Scooter settle in the crook of my neck.

He purred against my skin, and the warm vibration was everything including welcome.

I hugged him close to me.

I marveled at Scooter’s tolerance with me. If someone else tries to hug him or so much as squeeze him in their arms, he’ll rip them to shreds.

Maybe it’s because I’m practically his mom.

Mrs. McCarthy said he came from a shelter – Scooter’s original mother rejected him, so I basically had a real baby on my hands.

I’d get up every hour or so to feed him, even in the night, and I’d sleep with him when he mewled at bedtime.

I guess it really payed off.